


show you the ropes

by starboykeith



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Blow Jobs, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Dirty Talk, First Dates, First Meetings, Flirting, Frat Boy Shiro (Voltron), M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Sexual Content, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-19 00:32:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16129874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starboykeith/pseuds/starboykeith
Summary: It's universally accepted that frat boys with kind eyes and a firm handshake can and will ruin your life.





	show you the ropes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [otasucc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/otasucc/gifts).



> idk if freshers’ flu is a thing in the US but it is in england and i had it while writing this so keith gets to suffer with me
> 
> thank you lia and i hope you enjoy it!!
> 
> title from take what i can get by matthew mayfield

Keith meets Shiro at his first house party since becoming a pledge. Lance, who’d promised to glue himself to Keith’s side, has disappeared to make puppy eyes at Hunk, the big guy with warm brown eyes and a firm handshake. Lance thinks he’s in love. Keith thinks he isn’t far off.

Shiro, on the other hand, has beer on his breath and his hair is a sweaty damp mess and his stupid smile gets wider with every drink he downs, but the glimpses Keith gets are enough to stir heat in his belly.

“It’s Keith, right?” Shiro says when they finally bump into each other.

“That’s me,” he says. He’s buzzed already, skin tingling pleasantly and head pounding with the volume of the music, and he blames this for the flirty tone that infuses his next words. “And you are?”

Keith already knows who he is, but Shiro doesn’t need the ego boost.

“People call me Shiro,” Shiro says, and the sparkle in his eyes makes Keith instantly suspicious, “but you can call me tonight.”

Keith’s eyebrows raise of their own volition, and for a moment, he’s completely speechless. Shiro looks endlessly pleased with himself. “Wow,” Keith says dryly, glancing towards the front door and wondering how long it would take to worm his way out. “I’ve never heard that one before.”

“Never goes out of style,” Shiro says with a grin. He takes Keith’s hand and shakes it and _oh no_ , Keith thinks, _he has a firm handshake too_.

“Of course not,” Keith deadpans. He bites the inside of his cheek; for all his bravado, there’s something overwhelming about having Takashi Shirogane standing in front of him.

“You want another drink?” Shiro asks. He grabs Keith’s hand again without waiting for an answer and tugs him through the party, crowds parting like the Red Sea. Many jealous glances dip between them to their joined hands and Keith can’t help but feel a little smug.

Shiro makes him a drink – it’s mostly vodka with a tiny, obligatory amount of coke – and Keith controls his expression when he takes a sip.

“Thanks,” he says, wanting to prolong the conversation. “Can we sit down?”

On the sofa, Shiro doesn’t even bother with a yawn before putting his arm around Keith. Keith’s grateful once more that he and Lance threw back shots before even attempting to mingle: even the thought of talking to Shiro sober is – sobering.

“What’s your major?” Shiro asks.

“Astrophysics,” Keith answers, both pleasantly surprised and displeased that Shiro’s ditched the flirting. He catches a glimpse of Lance across the room, and in the brief moment of eye contact they share, Lance winks. Keith rolls his eyes.

“Oh, me too,” Shiro says. “If you need any help or support with your classes – keep me in mind, yeah?”

“Sure,” Keith says apprehensively. This is the side of Shiro the teachers know – the thoughtful, intelligent young man always willing to lend a hand. It’s Shiro on the college brochures, front and centre during the campus tours. Keith remembers him from researching the college last year, even before he started rushing.

Shiro’s watching him, a smile curling his lips. “What are you thinking about?”

 _You_ , Keith nearly says, but that would raise more questions than it answered. “More people in hoodies than I expected,” he mumbles.

“Represent!” Shiro says in a faux-cheerleader voice. Keith winces. “You too superior for a college hoodie, then?”

“It’s so capitalist,” Keith says, chugging the rest of his drink. “A forty dollar hoodie, right? It’s ridiculous.”

Shiro pouts. “You’d be too cute in one anyway,” he muses. Keith detects the slur in his words with some amusement. “Too powerful.”

“Thanks, I guess.” Keith stands up and Shiro’s arm falls away. “I’m gonna get some air.” Shiro’s face falls, too, but in a sudden burst of confidence, Keith extends his hand. “You coming?”

It’s harder to get through the crowd this time, but they make it to the back door. Keith stumbles over the step and Shiro pulls him upright, laughter in his eyes. Someone catches Shiro’s arm, asks in a hazy murmur where he’s going, and Keith frowns when Shiro answers, “Going for a smoke, I’ll see you later.”

“Do you smoke?” Keith asks as they step outside. It comes out as an accusation despite his efforts otherwise.

Shiro’s smile doesn’t fade. “No,” he says. He squeezes Keith’s hand and Keith’s heart skips a beat; neither of them let go. “I tell people I do, so – so that I have an excuse to leave when it gets too much, you know?”

It feels too open, too honest for a first meeting, for a stranger he barely knows, but Keith nods in understanding. He gets it; he’s grown up around anxiety. It’s the same reason Lance is always smiling, always shouting, “Don’t miss me too much!” as they leave a party even as his fingers tremble in Keith’s and his pulse jumps too fast.

“I know,” Keith says belatedly.

It’s a big garden. Shiro tugs him over to the swinging loveseat, and once they’re sure neither of them will tumble off, Shiro kicks the ground and sets them gently swinging. Keith pulls his hand away, self-conscious; they’re pressed together, thighs touching.

“What else do you do?” he asks, just to have something to say.

“Track,” Shiro says. He’s looking up, at the gleaming windows above, and so Keith’s long look at the muscles in his thighs goes undetected. “You thinking of joining anything, any societies?”

“Probably not,” Keith says. He likes running track, working out, challenging himself physically – but not as a social activity. He’d banned Lance from coming to the gym with him because Lance prefers burning calories by running his mouth.

“I wouldn’t have guessed you were a party person.” Keith reckons asking why he’s joining a fraternity is on the tip of Shiro’s tongue, but he won’t ask.

“Big parties can be good,” Keith says carefully. “More intimate.” He catches the flash of Shiro’s gaze then, his attention a burning thing.

“Small parties can be awkward.”

“As if you’ve ever been to a small party,” Keith teases.

Shiro laughs. “I was a total nerd in high school.”

“I bet you were cute,” Keith says instead of what he wants to say, which is _I bet I still would have fucked you_.

“Glasses and braces, the whole nine yards.”

Keith definitely would have fucked him.

“I’ll dig up a photo one day,” Shiro says, grinning. He glances at his watch, and it occurs to Keith how incongruous it is – Shiro’s wearing a lime green tank top, a cheap rainbow-coloured chain, and what looks like an expensive watch.

Someone screams inside the house, and Keith winces, the sound reverberating in his skull and dulling the buzz of alcohol. “What time is it?” he asks.

“Gone two,” Shiro says.

“I should get back.” It’s Saturday – or Sunday now, really – so it’s not like Keith has class in the morning, but he tries not to be _too_ stupid on nights out. He opens his mouth to ask if Shiro’s seen Lance, but remembers they don’t know each other – and that’s definitely an introduction for another time.

“You want me to walk you home?” Shiro asks. Their fingers brush as Keith rubs his palms over his thighs and stands up with some difficulty.

It kills Keith to say no. He worries he won’t see Shiro again, that he’ll become just another pledge in a long line of them, that this is his only chance – but he has responsibilities, and the most important is locating his much-loved but occasionally idiotic best friend.

“I need to find Lance,” he says, “but thank you.”

“Alright,” Shiro says easily. “I’ll walk you out.”

Keith finds Lance with no trouble – he’s unsure whether Hunk was getting to know him or babysitting him, honestly – and Shiro walks them to the gate. Keith smiles and nods as Shiro talks and viciously ignores Lance’s elbow in his ribs every two seconds.

“Way to _network_ , Keith,” Lance says as soon as they’re out of Shiro’s earshot. “You’ve made some really great _connections_ tonight, huh?”

“Says you,” Keith shoots back, face heating up.

He pulls Lance out of the road when he stumbles and regrets it when Lance continues, “We should double date.”

“No,” Keith says instantly, and then, “Wait, you and Hunk?”

“I work fast,” Lance says with a grin. “You should too.”

 

* * *

 

Keith lives to regret partying every day for four days when he catches the inevitable freshers’ flu. It’s not too bad – he’s never been one to let a runny nose and a cough deter him, so it’s the pounding headache threatening to become a migraine that confines Keith to bed for the day.

Someone knocks on his door.

It can’t be a room inspection, not this early in the semester. It can’t be Lance, because he avoids Keith when he’s sick as though he actually has the plague. It can’t be _anyone_ else, because Keith isn’t good at making friends and hasn’t really got any yet.

Keith forces himself out of his nest of blankets, the chill raising goosebumps on his bare arms, and staggers to the door. He doesn’t bother casting a glance over his room, messy with tissues and cough sweet wrappers, which he instantly regrets as he swings open the door because –

It’s Shiro.

“Heard you weren’t feeling so good,” Shiro says. He’s holding a thermos and there’s a hoodie slung over his arm.

The only person Keith had told was Lance. Keith realises now that Lance truly does work fast.

He’s tempted to close the door on Shiro. “I’m fine,” he says, and his body chooses this moment to produce a truly pitiful sneeze.

“Hey, we take care of our pledges,” Shiro says, gently shoving his way into Keith’s room. “Let’s open a window.”

Keith flushes, embarrassed. “I wasn’t expecting guests,” he says, more sharply than he means to.

“Okay,” Shiro says, placating. He doesn’t open the curtains, for which Keith is grateful, but he does lean out and crack open the window. Keith hopes to God no one saw Shiro in his room from outside.

He moves to his bed and attempts to straighten it out, pushing the blankets to the side. Shiro opts for the desk chair; Keith doesn’t blame him.

“What’s in the flask?” he asks.

“Chicken soup,” Shiro says. Keith detects something cautious in his voice. “I made it myself.”

Keith’s chest goes funny and warm, and he looks at his bare feet instead of at Shiro, suddenly overwhelmed. _Shiro thought of me_ , he thinks, bewildered and pleased.

It’s not that Lance doesn’t care, but he doesn’t care like _this_. This is different.

Keith doesn’t dare hope.

“Thank you,” he says genuinely. Shiro sets the thermos on the desk; Keith’s glad he isn’t pressured to try it right now. “That’s… really nice of you.”

“I try,” Shiro says with a trademark smirk, but his cheeks are pink. “And,” he adds, suddenly, shy, “I brought you this. Thought you could do with a dose of capitalism.”

It’s their college hoodie. Keith can’t help but notice how big it is, but before he can say anything Shiro says, “This is mine, but – you can borrow it.”

“Thank you,” Keith says automatically, awkwardly adding, “again.”

Shiro’s looking at him expectantly, and Keith wonders how it would make Shiro feel to see him in it. Wearing _his_ clothes.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Keith pulls the hoodie over his head. It comes to nearly mid-thigh and Keith has to adjust his shorts so they don’t ride up. Shiro swallows audibly, but his expression is neutral when Keith looks up.

“Looks good on you,” he says casually. His voice cracks right down the middle. Keith, secretly thrilled, pretends to ignore it.

Shiro doesn’t stay long, probably wary of catching Keith’s cold, but he lingers in the doorway as though he has something left to say, looking down at him with intent Keith can’t determine.

When he’s gone, though, Keith kicks his shorts off and returns to his nest, tugging the blankets back to how they were. He pulls the hoodie over his nose and just _breathes_. It smells of Shiro’s cologne: something probably expensive but Keith doesn’t care about the price tag when the scent of it is like having Shiro here with him, what he imagines hugging Shiro is like.

He inhales deeply, and something within him stirs.

It’s easy to imagine hugging Shiro, easier still to make the jump to kissing him, making out on one of their beds, surrounded by his scent. Keith bites his lip and slides his hand into his boxers.

He feels guilty, using something Shiro had given him for reassurance for his own shameless purposes, and yanks it up higher, exposing his stomach and ensuring he won’t get the hoodie dirty. Keith reasons if he’s going to give in to the impulse, he doesn’t need to risk everything. The door’s locked and Shiro’s gone – it’s _fine_.

His other hand fists in the hoodie and his eyes fall closed, trying to imagine how Shiro might touch him – if Shiro would stroke firm and fast and whisper that he wants to see Keith come, or if he would draw it out, hands skimming Keith’s body and fingers curling lightly, bringing Keith to the edge but not letting him tip over.

Keith imagines Shiro taking his time, of lazy fingers wrapping around Keith’s cock and moving in long indulgent pulls, and turns his face against the pillow to muffle his moan. The hoodie slips from his face but it’s already lit the fire and Keith’s thighs part involuntarily, wishing Shiro was here to spread them for him.

He moves faster, chest beginning to heave with his panting, trying to keep the noise down and wondering if Shiro would want him to be loud, if he’d play Keith like an instrument and listen with rapture to the music he produced.

“Shiro,” Keith moans once and bites his lip hard, thumbing the head of his cock and imagining Shiro bearing down on him, telling him, _ordering_ him to come –

Keith comes with Shiro’s name on his lips a second time, breathless and tingling all over with desire even minutes later. Tissues are within easy reach and Keith cleans himself up with only a little shame, anxiously checking the hoodie and finding it clean.

The thing that stays with him, despite everything, is imagining what hugging Shiro would be like.

 

* * *

 

Keith has an opportunity to discover this sooner than he’d expected. He’s just a pledge, and yet… Shiro makes excuses to see him, seeks him out at the parties, and makes an effort to get to know him outside of drinking and dancing.

When Shiro asks to talk to him alone, Keith forgets to be suspicious, lulled into security by glimpses of softness under the nonchalant, glowing exterior. The party’s barely begun and as far as Keith knows, Shiro hasn’t touched a drop of alcohol.

This makes it harder to believe him when he earnestly asks, “Will you go on a date with me?”

Keith’s eyes narrow out of instinct, and he fights to relax his expression and cover his bewilderment. He doesn’t go as far as to look over his shoulder, but he allows himself, “Me?”

Shiro laughs. “Yeah, you.” He doesn’t take it as a rejection, which is good because Keith’s struggling to find the words.

“Okay,” he settles on, and Shiro’s face lights up with a smile. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Good,” Shiro says, pleased. “I figured… house parties aren’t dates, are they?”

It’s the uncertainty in his voice that makes Keith say firmly, “No, Shiro.”

They go to Five Guys on Friday night, because it’s within walking distance and it makes sense, Keith thinks, that Shiro’s a burger-and-shake kind of guy. He worries about seeing Shiro’s frat brothers there but, as Shiro explains in hushed tones, there’s a rumour going around that this is the last Friday before initiation, and the pledges are still under a watchful eye.

Every member of the fraternity could be at the restaurant, in all honesty, because Keith can’t take his eyes off Shiro, who’s wearing a _tie_.

Keith’s immediate fantasies of yanking Shiro in for a kiss by his tie are quelled when Shiro hugs him hello, hands chaste on Keith’s shoulders but easily taking up the space. Keith has to remind himself to let go.

“Nice tie,” he says, and means it. It’s steel-grey and brings out Shiro’s eyes, which shine cool and pleased at the compliment.

“Thanks,” Shiro says. “You look good in white.”

Keith tugs irritably at his collar. “Thanks.”

He gets a double cheeseburger and a strawberry milkshake. Shiro gets the same but in salted caramel, confessing to a sweet tooth he suppresses in favour of the gym.

It gives him pause when Shiro insists on paying – something Keith could easily have foreseen, but failed to consider – and he’s quiet for a few minutes after, chewing on his straw in thought.

“Keith,” Shiro says, touching his shoulder. “It’s a date. It’s fine.”

“Okay,” Keith concedes. “But I’m buying next time.”

“Next time, huh?” Shiro says, trying not to smile.

Keith goes red.

They get their food and sit down at a booth, and Keith knows it isn’t an accident when Shiro shifts until they’re touching under the table, the toe of his shoe nudging Keith’s ankle.

It’s nice to talk without booming music in the background, or without Keith full of cold and sniffing periodically, and Keith lets his eyes wander as Shiro talks. He talks with his hands, too, and Keith watches them, wondering how much bigger Shiro’s would be if they pressed their palms together.

Keith traces the cut of Shiro’s jaw with his eyes, wonders at the small scar bisecting Shiro’s nose, lets his gaze dip to Shiro’s mouth, once, and glances away before Shiro can notice.

His nerves melt away, replaced with a simple warmth that has him fighting to keep a stupid smile from his face. Shiro’s hand is flat on the table, fingers tapping to the beat of the restaurant’s music, and before he can second-guess himself, Keith reaches over and takes it.

Shiro doesn’t stop talking, but he favours Keith with a fond smile that sets Keith’s heart hammering in his chest.

Before they leave, Shiro excuses himself to the bathroom. Keith waits outside – it’s warm for September, and he takes Shiro’s absence as a chance to pop a mint into his mouth and chew it quick.

“Hey,” Shiro says when he comes out, letting the door shut quietly behind him. Keith pushes his hands into his pockets, unsure what happens now – if Shiro will walk him home, or if they’ll part now, and if so what goodbye is appropriate –

Shiro closes the distance between them, takes Keith’s face in his hands, and kisses him.

He doesn’t kiss like a good boy should. He kisses hard and filthy and devastating, biting and sucking at Keith’s bottom lip before releasing it and sliding his tongue into Keith’s mouth instead. Keith’s hands migrate to Shiro’s shoulders and Shiro wraps one arm around his waist in return, tipping Keith back enough that he feels weightless, safe in Shiro’s embrace.

Their mouths part with a soft sound and Keith blushes, fingers curling into Shiro’s back, unwilling to let go. Shiro’s lips are red and wet and Keith kisses him again, drawn like a magnet.

Someone wolf-whistles across the street, and this time Keith takes a step back.

“I’ll walk you home,” Shiro says, and there’s something in his eyes that makes Keith shiver, some darkness that makes him think he’s inviting the wolf into his home.

As they walk, Shiro slides his hand into Keith’s back pocket. Mildly possessive; mildly feeling Keith up. Keith certainly isn’t complaining about either.

They pause outside Keith’s building, and again at Keith’s door. Keith takes a deep breath and turns to put his keys in the lock, holding the door open for Shiro to come in and flicking the light on.

Shiro’s seen his room before, but now they know each other a little better, and he pays closer attention to Keith’s knick-knacks, the frame on his desk containing a photo of him and his mom. Keith shuts the door with a click and the sudden realisation he’s never had a boy in his room before.

Not like this.

“I was gonna kiss you goodbye at the door,” Shiro says, “but I guess I don’t need an occasion for it.”

“No, you don’t,” Keith says, and kisses him.

He kisses him softer, sweeter, but it’s more intense somehow, the two of them pulling apart and coming back together, Shiro’s hands on the small of his back and moving lower, Keith’s fingers fumbling with Shiro’s tie and letting it fall to the floor. Flushed and panting, Keith keeps pushing forward, wanting to be closer, wanting to mould them together as one.

“How far do you want to go?” Shiro murmurs. The words send a thrill through Keith, as if anything he wanted could be his if he asked for it.

But he doesn’t know the answer to Shiro’s question, not yet, and responds by dropping his head to Shiro’s neck, kissing and laving the skin there and finally managing, “Can we – take it slow?”

“Anything you want, baby,” Shiro says. Then it’s his mouth on Keith’s neck, intense enough Keith worries about having to hide a hickey, but he’s relieved when Shiro stops and says, “First date, huh?”

“Yes,” Keith says, knowing Shiro’s teasing but feeling colour rise to his cheeks nevertheless.

“Didn’t take you for that kind of guy,” Shiro says when Keith releases him. There’s a smile in his eyes even as he squeezes Keith’s ass roughly through his jeans and Keith moans involuntarily.

“Only for you,” he says and Shiro makes a noise like a _growl_ and topples them onto the bed.

He lets Shiro lead the kiss, too focused on unbuttoning Shiro’s shirt and too busy running his hands over newly exposed skin to take it off all the way. It’s Shiro who sighs in frustration, sitting up and peeling the sleeves from his arms and letting the shirt fall away. Keith does the same as quick as he can manage, eyes on the tousled black hair coming loose from gel and falling over Shiro’s forehead.

It’s a good look on him. However, Keith reasons, Shiro can’t walk around flushed and dishevelled all the time – half the student population would be taken out.

“Clothes off,” Shiro orders, and Keith swallows and obeys, fingers fumbling on his fly but attention caught by Shiro kicking his jeans away.

He isn’t wearing underwear.

Keith tries to focus and eventually succeeds in wriggling out of his skinny jeans, tossing them away. He doesn’t bother with his boxers because he’s hopelessly distracted by the vision kneeling in front of him.

Shiro’s hard already, cock heavy between his legs and Keith doesn’t even think before blurting out, “Move over.”

His eyes go wide as Keith drops to his knees, licking his lips and pushing Shiro’s legs apart. Shiro’s big, big enough that Keith knows already that he probably can’t take it all but he’ll be damned if he isn’t gonna try, leaning in and licking pre-come from the head of Shiro’s cock.

He wraps his hand around it and gives one long pull, breathless at the weight of it in his hand. He starts slow, taking the head in his mouth and sucking until Shiro’s hand comes to rest in his hair. Too nervous to look at Shiro’s face, he looks at the way Shiro’s stomach muscles have tensed, emphasising already well-defined abs and Keith hollows his cheeks and hears Shiro groan.

He’s not very practiced at this, but from the way Shiro’s moaning Keith doesn’t think it matters. He takes as much as he can manage, moving with a frustrating slowness but reaping rewards nevertheless, Shiro’s hands tightening in his hair as Keith swallows and feels the nudge of Shiro’s cock against his throat.

When he finds the courage to look up, Shiro’s biting his lip. “Keith,” he says, and groans when Keith reaches his limit and pulls back a little. “You don’t have to take it all.”

Keith wants to scowl but concentrates on breathing through his nose and moving down. He can’t take it all but he thinks he _could_ , one day and with plenty of practice –

He bobs his head once, carefully, and Shiro’s grip tightens to the point of pain and loosens in the space of a second. Keith can’t help his whimper, knows Shiro would’ve felt a hint of teeth but Shiro _moans_ and doubles Keith’s confidence.

“Fuck,” Shiro breathes. When Keith next opens his eyes, Shiro’s other hand is clenched tight in the sheets.

He finds a rhythm, bobbing his head and curling his fingers around what he can’t fit in his mouth. Shiro’s breath gets ragged, his moans getting rougher, and when Keith next swallows around him Shiro makes a noise like a _whine_.

Keith speeds up, other hand moving to Shiro’s thigh and squeezing the muscles there, and Shiro starts moving too, tentatively rocking into Keith’s hand and mouth and Keith lets him, lets Shiro fuck into him until he comes down Keith’s throat with a cracked whisper of his name.

He swallows as best he can, the sensation new and not altogether pleasant, but the way Shiro looks at him then is reverent and awed and _worth it_. Keith’s so hard, the wet spot on his boxers embarrassing at this point, and Shiro’s fingers card through his hair.

“I want you,” he says, rough and meaningful and Keith’s cock twitches, unsure what Shiro wants but knowing he’ll give him anything he asks for.

What Shiro wants is Keith on his back in bed and Keith obeys, leaving his boxers on when Shiro stops him from taking them off. He feels exposed enough with Shiro kneeling between his legs, regardless of clothing, and Keith thinks he might die when Shiro traces his clothed cock with one finger.

He exhales harshly, propped up on his elbows but arms beginning to tremble as Shiro’s hand follows and squeezes the length of his cock, making Keith dizzy with need. He isn’t fussed what happens next – whether Shiro jerks him off or sucks him off makes no difference when he just wants Shiro to fucking _touch him_.

“Shiro,” he says eventually in complaint.

Shiro’s answering grin is wicked and he slips his fingers into Keith’s waistband, drawing his boxers over his hips and finally tossing them to the floor with the rest of their clothing. Shiro’s fingers are hot around him, testing the waters with gentle pressure and dragging his thumb over the head of Keith’s cock.

His other hand explores, running over Keith’s ribs and making Keith shake with a sudden ticklishness he ruthlessly tamps down on. Shiro keeps moving his hand, working out that Keith likes a firmer grip and a touch to the vein on the underside of his cock makes his hips buck into Shiro’s touch. Keith moans when he lets go but it’s only to move up the bed, kneeling between Keith’s legs with a hand beside his head for balance.

“Is this good?” he asks in a murmur.

“Yeah,” Keith says, words dissolving into a moan when Shiro squeezes on the upstroke.

“You got any lube?” Shiro asks next, and Keith wrestles back control of his higher brain functions.

“Yeah,” he says, slightly suspicious, “but I don’t want to – you know.”

“Just one finger,” Shiro says and it’s a question, his voice tilting up at the end. Not pressuring, or persuading – just a question. Keith appreciates that.

“Okay,” he says, swallowing his anticipation, not wanting to seem too eager – not wanting to betray that he’s dreamed about Shiro’s fingers too many times having only met him a week or two ago. Shiro lets go of him so he can fumble the bottle from Keith’s nightstand and then they’re back to it, Shiro looming over him in a way that’s both intimidating and dizzying.

He waits for Keith to nod before he proceeds, slicking his fingers and sliding them between Keith’s legs too quickly for Keith to prepare. When Keith’s brain catches up, he registers Shiro asking if this is okay, and nods.

Shiro’s not lacking in confidence or experience, that’s for sure; when he rubs against Keith’s hole and pulls an already-broken moan from Keith, his smirk is devastating and reminds Keith of loud music and laughter and beer.

He wraps his fingers around Keith and resumes the pace from before, hand moving in a steady slide, already slippery with pre-come. Desperate not to get distracted, Keith tries to focus on the slow pressure of Shiro’s finger, the tip just inside and moving in slow circles.

“Next time,” Shiro says quietly, and Keith would have missed the words if Shiro’s eyes weren’t intent on his, “I want to see how long I can finger you before you come.”

“Fuck,” Keith chokes out. He can tell it’s a struggle to concentrate on both movements, watching Shiro’s teeth sink into his bottom lip, but Shiro’s hand on his cock doesn’t falter even as the finger of his other hand is gently easing inside. Keith wants to move, to thrust into both, _either_ movement, but he’s spellbound by the heat behind Shiro’s gaze.

“Would you let me do that?” Shiro asks softly, and with the last stroke he squeezes his hand and rubs his thumb over the head and Keith _moans_ , turning his head helplessly against the pillow. He doesn’t have it in him to spare a thought for his neighbours, hopes they’ll put up with the noise just a little longer, because he’s so close, the memory of Shiro’s cock on his tongue and the pressure of Shiro’s finger inside him too much even without Shiro _talking_.

“ _Yes_ ,” Keith gasps, because he wants Shiro to keep talking, wants to know what will happen next. He spreads himself wider, rests his ankle on Shiro’s shoulder and it feels so much filthier this way, pulled open like this. “And – and then what?”

“Then I’ll fuck you,” Shiro says roughly, “take a weekend, see how sloppy you get with my come.” Keith’s thighs tense but Shiro keeps him spread open, thumb resting in the hollow of Keith’s hipbone as he starts moving in earnest, thrusting his finger in and out and it’s too much to feel his second finger there as well, resting against Keith’s rim in something that feels like a _promise_.

“Shiro,” Keith says desperately, wanting to hang on, unable to stop himself clenching down around Shiro’s finger and Shiro moans, squeezing Keith’s hip and Keith imagines squeezing around Shiro’s cock and comes with a cry, head tipping back.

Chest heaving, he’s aware enough to recognise Shiro cleaning them up with tissues from the box on the nightstand, and shifts until they both fit in Keith’s tiny bed. Shiro’s half-hard against Keith’s thigh but Keith follows his lead, cuddling into Shiro’s side and splaying his palm over Shiro’s chest.

“Is that my hoodie?” Shiro asks wryly.

Keith opens his eyes in terror, but it’s fine – he’d left the hoodie slung over his chair, _thank fuck_. Last time he’d seen it, it was in his bed, and that’s a level of incriminating Keith doesn’t want to divulge just yet.

“Yeah,” he says, tracing his finger down Shiro’s ribcage. “You want it back?”

“Not just yet,” Shiro says. “I think you’re taking good care of it, aren’t you?”

Keith smiles to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> and then what? ;)
> 
> please leave a comment if you enjoyed, and you can find me on twitter at twitter.com/starboysheith and tumblr at starboykeith.tumblr.com !


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